


(bee sounds)

by OctoberSpirit



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bees, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Is Not Described, Cecil is a Dork, Coffee, Established Relationship, Honey, M/M, Science, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, implied intern deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4344911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSpirit/pseuds/OctoberSpirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Carlos?" asks Cecil from across the table. "Where does honey come from, anyway?"</p><p>Or, how Cecil got his honeycomb hat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(bee sounds)

**Author's Note:**

> (Based on a true story.)

“Carlos? I have a…scientific question for you.”

Carlos looks up from his toast, mildly surprised. Cecil’s just finished his first cup of coffee; generally, he won’t speak until he’s had three. Until the caffeine hits his system, he tends to communicate through scowls and grunts, with the occasional affectionate sigh interspersed. “Go ahead,” Carlos says, adjusting his glasses, then scowling himself at the thumbprint of jam.

Cecil pours a second cup of coffee as he waits for Carlos to clean off the smudge.

“I was wondering,” says Cecil, when Carlos’ swearing has finally abated, “about this stuff your mother sent in the mail.”

“It’s legal,” Carlos interjects, mainly for the benefit of the Sheriff’s Secret Police officer lurking in the shade beneath their window. “I cleared all the forms through City Hall. Intern Abdullah helped me file them, even.”

“May he rest in peace,” Cecil says automatically, tilting the bear-shaped bottle toward his cup. “But this stuff, this...”

“Honey.”

“Right, this _honey._ What is it, exactly?”

“It comes from bees.” Carlos waits a moment to weigh his next words; honey is something of a novelty in Night Vale, but it can’t be any stranger than what he’s seen Cecil eat. “Immensely simplified, it’s sort of bee vomit. Bees gather the nectar from flowers, then deposit it into honeycomb for long-term food storage.”

“Uh-huh,” says Cecil, mulling it over. “Like the bees in Mission Grove Park, you mean?”

“Well, technically, yes. The DNA samples indicate that the Mission Grove bees are an identical species to those outside of Night Vale. I’ve yet to find evidence of a hive, however.”

 _“Restricted,”_ coughs a voice outside the kitchen window. _“Scientific evidence of beehives is unknowable.”_

“Interesting,” murmurs Carlos, chucking a handful of cough drops through the window. 

Cecil hums in agreement and retreats into silence, stirring the honey into his coffee.

-

“Mister Scientist?” comes a voice, its owner hovering just past the doorframe. Literally hovering, about three-to-six inches, bobbing occasionally like a cork on the water. “Er, Doctor Scientist? The Scientist? Carlos?”

“Carlos is fine,” Carlos says with a smile, stepping slightly away from his workspace. His guest wears track pants and sensible running shoes, along with a bloodstained NVCR hoodie. “How can I help you, Intern…?”

“Divya.” The intern ceases wringing their hands just long enough to offer one to Carlos, who seizes it in a courteous shake after hastily shucking his latex gloves. “I’m here to let you know about Cecil? Uh, Mister Palmer. He’s in the hospital.”

 _“What,”_ Carlos yelps, startling the intern, who rises an additional inch-and-a-half. “Sorry, I’m sorry. What happened? Is he hurt?”

“He’s fine,” Divya says, back to wringing their hands. “He was talking and smiling with the paramedics. They just had to treat him for the swelling, I guess, and have a doctor look him over. He told me to tell you it isn’t serious.”

Carlos plucks his emergency labcoat from the hook, maneuvering past the nervous intern. “I’d like to check that for myself.”

“He thought that you would,” Divya says, pressing a Subway receipt into his palm. On the back of the paper, Cecil’s elegant script lists the names of a hospital and a physician, as well as instructions to get past the dogs. 

“Thank you,” says Carlos, hurrying out the door without even bothering to clear off the counter.

Intern Divya looks spry. Hopefully they can fend for themselves.

-

“Carlos,” Cecil says, some days later, after the pain and swelling have gone down. He still winces a bit when he drinks his coffee, but that’s to be expected with a mouthful of bee-stings. “Can you tell me again how honey is made? I don’t quite think I got it the first time.”

Warily, Carlos breaks it down, this time taking care with specifics and integrating a number of brightly-colored diagrams. Cecil listens with the rapt attention of a child—or perhaps, more accurately, with that of a journalist. Carlos wonders if this will end up on the air, and whether or not the knowledge is legal, then decides it’s worth the potential risk if it keeps people like his boyfriend from swallowing bees.

Bees, Carlos is careful to emphasize, are _not_ blobs of honey with a striped, fuzzy coating. They are _not_ buzzing bonbons set adrift in the park. They are creatures, like spiders, with the ability to create—but instead of webs and tricked-out sports cars, their primary export is edible honey.

“Got it?” Carlos asks, two hours and myriad questions later.

“Totally,” says Cecil. “You’re so clever, dear Carlos.”

He can’t help but smile at Cecil’s enthusiasm, though he wishes he’d spent more time on the diagrams when he finds Cecil’s framed them to decorate their bedroom.

-

“Uh, Carlos?” comes a voice—Intern Divya again. Carlos is impressed with their will to survive. It’s not often that interns last more than a week, and this one is nearing the one-month mark. As far as Carlos can calculate, anyway, given that time’s been more slippery than usual. He’s mainly judging by the wear on their nametag.

“Intern Divya,” says Carlos, gaze sweeping their feet. Only one-to-three inches of hover today. Hopefully this is a positive sign. “What can I do for you this evening?”

“It’s Cecil,” they mutter, cringing faintly. “He’s fine, it’s just…we need your assistance.”

Suspicion threading through his veins, Carlos follows the hovering intern through the lab, then freezes at the edge of the parking lot. There isn’t much left that can give him pause, not after this much time spent in Night Vale, but he’s never before had to process the sight of the love of his life covered in bees. Cecil’s skin, his hair, his work clothes, his tattoos—all are hidden by fat, fuzzy insects. Even his voice is muffled by buzzing.

“Hello, Carlos,” says Cecil, gingerly waving. “I was just wondering if you’d give me a hand?”

“What,” Carlos says. “What… What?”

“It’s the bees,” Cecil says.

“I’m allergic,” says Divya.

“And we’re not really looking to _tempt_ fate, you know…”

“Cecil,” says Carlos, now rubbing his temples, “how and why are you covered in bees?”

“We were trying to find the hive,” Divya says. 

“So we’d have other options besides imported product.”

“I spoke to the Secret Police,” Divya mutters, raising her hands against Carlos’ expression while keeping a careful distance from Cecil. “They granted an exception for Mister Palmer, noon to three every other Thursday.”

“Which isn’t a whole lot of time,” Cecil hedges. “So I thought, if they could just _lead_ us to the hive…”

“So you covered yourself in bees,” says Carlos.

Cecil manages a look of fond exasperation despite his impenetrable, squirming mask. “Of course not, my beautiful, misguided Carlos. I covered myself in _honey._ To _attract_ them.”

Carlos takes a moment to process this, taking a mental step back from the problem. Presently, he finds himself faced with the following: a) his boyfriend, covered in bees, b) an intern, allergic to bees, and c) what appears to be several thousand live bees, approximately half of which are buzzing in sync with a catchy combination of hip-hop and showtunes.

Carlos, generally a man of action, finds himself at a bit of a loss.

After another few minutes of silent contemplation, Carlos nudges Divya into the safety of the lab, then shuts the door and approaches his boyfriend. “What would you like me to do, here, exactly?”

“Get the bees off my body?” tries Cecil.

“I’m not really certain that’s possible, Cecil. Not without killing a bunch of them, anyway.”

Cecil gasps, scandalized. The bees give a sound of similar distress. 

“Not that we’d do that,” Carlos hurries to add. “Bees are already threatened enough. It would be irresponsible of me, as a scientist, to deliberately do them any harm.” Both Cecil and the bees relax, and Carlos circles slightly closer, tilting his head to observe the little hitchhikers. They appear to observe him in return, buzzing a cautious yet welcoming tone. “I’m not really sure what to tell you, Cecil. Unless we dip someone else in honey, to try and coax them away from you.”

Carlos means it as a joke, but his laugh sticks to the roof of his mouth when he catches sight of Cecil’s expression. “Wait, Cecil, I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry, sweet Carlos, I’ve gotta run. The shop closes in less than an hour.”

“Cecil, wait! What?”

“See you at home, I hope! I love you!” Cecil—deceptively quick although hampered by bees—is already at the end of the block, and he rounds the corner before Carlos can respond. 

Sighing, running a hand through his hair, Carlos stares in the direction of Cecil’s departure, wondering whether he should have gone with him. But no, Cecil could always have asked, and he’s lived in Night Vale all his life; he’s familiar with the risks of any given action. Carlos trusts him to take care of himself, despite his discouraging history with bees.

“He’ll be fine,” says a Secret Police officer gruffly, stationed somewhere beneath Carlos’ Prius. “I’d be more worried about your lab, if it were me.”

Startled, Carlos hurries inside. He finds no trace of Intern Divya, but his algae sample has ballooned in size, approaching the dimensions of a fully-grown manatee. It’s a fascinating—if alarming—development.

Carlos firmly pinches the bridge of his nose. At least he’ll have a distraction tonight.

-

Carlos jerks awake as the front door opens, nearly falling off the couch before he remembers why he’s there in the first place. “Cecil?” he calls, sitting up and stretching, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “That you, babe?”

“It is,” Cecil says, following Carlos’ voice to the living room and plopping onto the sofa himself. He looks tired but miraculously free of bees, although perhaps a bit sticky in various patches. On his head is what looks like a baseball cap, if baseball caps were carved out of honeycomb. “You like it?” asks Cecil, following Carlos’ gaze. “It used to belong to Michelle Nguyen.”

Carlos’ brow furrows. “From Dark Owl Records?”

“That’s the one. I was going to give her the bees for free, but she insisted we trade. I guess it’s the law.”

“Oh,” Carlos says. “Well, I’m glad it worked out.”

They sit in silence for a moment, content with lazy cuddling after a long, trying day. Just as Carlos starts to drift off again, however, Cecil makes a questioning noise, gently poking his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Did you remember to send Divya home?”

Sleepily, Carlos shushes Cecil, brushing one finger against his lips. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he says in a murmur, and Cecil replies with a shrug of acceptance.

Time is strange in Night Vale, after all. It can wait until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Cecil wouldn't have eaten the bees if he realized it would kill them. Cecil loves the bees. The bees are adorable.
> 
> Shout-out to my d&d friends who put up with my bee-obsessed bard-Cecil. Shout-out to my dad, as well, because he's the one who ate bees as a child. Oops.
> 
> Bees are awesome. Save the bees.
> 
> As always, it is wheat-free toast, and you can find me at octoberspirit.tumblr.com.


End file.
